


make me move (like a freak)

by panicparade



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Clubbing, Denial of Feelings, Fuckbuddies, Lust, M/M, Oblivious Draco, Seduction, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-18
Updated: 2015-06-18
Packaged: 2018-04-05 01:46:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4160940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/panicparade/pseuds/panicparade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The song changes, making the crowd roar; there are people jumping around them, the lights flashing brighter and faster and yet Draco Malfoy has eyes only for Harry Potter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	make me move (like a freak)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [writhen_heart](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=writhen_heart).



> Written for Smoochfest 2015. 
> 
> Songspiration: Mr Saxobeat - Ylvis  
> Prompter: writhen_heart  
> Prompt Number: #142  
> Author's Notes: 
> 
> Dear Prompter, I must have watched the video about a hundred times because of how amazing it is - specially the slow motion action shots! I’ve tried my best to capture the feeling of the video and the song in the fic. I hope you like it! ♥ All the hugs to my lovely betas TBC and L!! This fic would be a complete mess without you guys! Thank you! ♥ All remaining mistakes are my own.

There’s something to be said about toiling the entire week, working twenty hour days in the Ministry Archives, bent over old and dusty scrolls. It makes Friday night even more irresistible; the prize that motivates him to work tirelessly the entire week.

The day Draco got the letter inviting him to work for the Ministry’s Department of Records and Documentation as a Restoration Expert, he had decided that he needed to set his priorities straight. He had worked hard to get this job, gotten a degree in restoration and archiving, interned under the Prof. who had led some of the major excavations in Egypt and then spent a further six months working for minimum wage to get a feel for the department.

So the week was his job, his sole focus and attention on ensuring that he did his work to the best of his capabilities. The Malfoy name had been greatly tarnished after the end of the war, and if he had to keep aside his personal life for most of the week to build a solid reputation as a hardworking man, then so be it.

He’s perched over an ancient scroll, over two hundred years old; he’s not sure but he thinks it’s the report that led to the creation of the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Fixing the dial on his monocle, to increase the power of the lens, he leans in, his chair tipped forward precariously as he tries to read the script. After a few minutes of trying he shakes his head with a sigh, placing the monocle to the side; it’s still too illegible. Tipping his chair a little more forward, he waves his wand over the parchment, taking care to regulate his wand movement to control the strength of the spell. With documents as old as these they need to be treated with restoration spells in a staggered manner, gradually building the strength in the parchment.

He’s just at the last stage of the spell process, waiting for the previous spell to settle, he raises his wand, the incantation ready on his lips –

“It’s time to party!”

Draco startles, jumping back from the table. In almost slow motion he feels his chair fall back onto its back legs, it wobbles a little before tipping over backwards, taking Draco with it. He stays on his back, too stunned to move as he waits for his ears to stop ringing.

“You okay?”

Draco blinks, his best friend’s concerned face fills his vision and Draco curses.

“Blaise!” he bites out, batting away Blaise’s offered hand as he tries to climb to his feet, “How many fucking times have we been over this?”

Blaise looks away innocently, moving aside some papers on Draco’s desk before hopping onto it. Draco barely, barely, resists the urge to hex Blaise; he has better ways of making Blaise pay. Tripping over the arm of the chair and almost falling down again, Draco stands up, brushing off his coat with dignity while glaring at Blaise.

“If there’s a single pulled thread on this, Blaise, then I swear to Merlin . . .” Draco trails off, letting the threat hang in the air. Blaise knows the suit is a Brioni, one of the few things Draco doesn’t hesitate before splurging on. The Malfoy coffers may not be anywhere near depleted but Draco knows better than to waste money now, he’s seen a life free from money troubles and he’s also seen a life where for a few months they had no idea if they would have any money left after the Ministry seized their accounts for reparations.

“I’ll buy you two more,” Blaise placates him, swinging his legs as he takes in Draco’s office. Though office is a misnomer perhaps, it’s nothing more than a glorified storage room. There are towering piles of boxes, balanced precariously against each other. Scrolls upon scrolls of aging parchments can be found in every corner of the room. The only clear space in the room is the path from the door to Draco’s chair. Dressed in his expensive tailored suit, Draco knows he stands out amongst the piles of dusty old scrolls, the musty smell now a permanent feature of the room. But for the first time in his life he’s feeling like he’s where he belongs, there’s a sense of satisfaction in his job that he’s never experienced before and for now, that’s enough.

“Why are you here?” he asks, a trying edge to his tone, as he uprights his chair with a flick of his wand.

Blaise hops off the table, coming to stand in front of Draco, “It’s Friday night, my friend, and that means it’s time to party.”

Draco performs the standard stasis charms on the parchments he was working on. “Go away, I’m still working.”

Blaise coughs once, the only warning Draco gets, before he’s being manhandled away from the table.

“Blaise,” Draco warns him, his voice calm, “if you don’t put me down right now, the Zabini line might end with you.”

Blaise lets go, but stands between Draco and the table, his arms crossed and hips cocked, “Friday nights are ours, Draco. It’s tradition and you don’t mess with tradition.”

Draco huffs and leans against the door; it is tradition. They’ve been going out together every Friday since Blaise’s twenty first birthday. He’s just so tired, having worked four twenty hour days this week to catch up with the backlog that had been piling up since he’d skipped work due a cold last month. Blaise seems to have caught up with Draco’s line of thought as he steps closer with a smirk, “Draco, I’m sure they won’t fire you for being only five days ahead of schedule rather than the ten days ahead of schedule you usually are.”

“You don’t know that,” Draco retorts, cringing internally at how petulant he sounds.

Blaise’s smirk softens into a fond smile. “You’ve proved yourself, Draco, more than ten times over. I know I keep saying it but I mean it, don’t let this overtake your life.”

Draco relaxes slightly and lets go, falling back against the wall, “When did you get so smart?”

“When you started acting like an idiot,” Blaise states simply. Assured of his win, he fixes his tie and walks forward, placing an arm around Draco’s shoulders and steering him towards the door, “We’re young and beautiful only once, why not make the most of it?”

Draco shakes his head and seals off his room, giving one last lingering glance to the open scroll on his table. But before he can change his mind, Blaise is herding him towards the lifts, steering past lingering Ministry workers who are taking their time to walk along the corridor.

“Besides,” Blaise says, nudging Draco with his shoulder as they wait in the lift and Draco takes the time to check his reflection in the mirror, “if the Ministry would do anything to you they would have to answer to your boyfriend.”

Draco scowls at his best friend, “Shut up, he’s not my boyfriend.”

“Fuck buddy then,” Blaise corrects himself, waving his hand in a manner indicating it doesn’t really matter much. The elderly witch next to them in the lift shoots them a pointed glare. “Either way, as you keep deluding yourself into believing that by the way, he would still make sure the higher ups knew how displeased he was.”

“You’re delusional,” Draco mutters, giving the witch a pointed look as she leans slightly towards them to hear better.

Blaise laughs, bright and loud. “Oh, Draco. You’re almost living with him; I doubt you even remember the last time you went home. Not to mention, you’re having weekly Sunday brunches with his family and I have it on good account that Narcissa approves of him.”

Draco tries to get a word in to defend himself but Blaise doesn’t let him, clearly enjoying the chance to show Draco how wrong he is. The witch isn’t even hiding her curiosity now, she’s openly listening in, nodding along to what Blaise is saying.

“You like buying him gifts and you’ve said it yourself, he loves making sure you’re comfortable. When not at work, you’re with him and don’t forget that time I walked in on the two of you cuddling; cuddling, Draco. You don’t cuddle with a fuck buddy.”

“That’s true,” the witch adds.

Draco’s scowling now, glaring at the slowly changing numbers as the lift seems to take even longer to reach the Atrium.

“Not to mention,” Blaise continues, counting down the points on his fingers, “all our conversations these days include some mention of what a good fuck he is, perhaps even the best you’ve had. So stop being an idiot.”

As soon as the lift doors open Draco stalks out, ignoring Blaise. He steps up the line in front of the Apparation Chamber, ready to leave Blaise behind if need be. He’s almost there when Blaise walks up.

“Oh. Don’t sulk.”

Draco deigns not to reply, which in hindsight is a bad idea as it gives Blaise the motivation to keep going.

“You always sulk when you feel like things aren’t going your way, like when we were six and got our training brooms. Dear Merlin, it was just one time, one time I wanted to be Seeker but no, how could you let anyone else be Seeker?”

“Oh, is today mock Draco’s childhood day? I thought we did that every alternate Monday?”

Draco clenches his fists and shakes his head. “Hello, Pansy. Are you going to be joining us today?”

“Not really, just one drink and then I’m out. I need to be up early tomorrow.” Pansy gives Draco a quick kiss on his cheek as hello before turning to Blaise, “So, mocking Draco?”

Blaise gives her a hug. “Sadly, no. Today we’re making Draco accept reality.”

“Finally! Draco, he’s not your fuck buddy, stop calling him that,” Pansy laughs gleefully. Draco resists the urge to turn back and hex both of them.

“I hate you guys.”

Pansy hugs him from behind, leaning on Draco, “No you don’t, you love us. And you love him, too.”

Draco splutters, dislodging Pansy from his back. He shakes his head.

“No, I don’t and I’ll prove it to you. I’m going home with someone else tonight because that’s what you do with fuck buddies.”

His bubble of happiness bursts when he hears Blaise say, “Ten Galleons he doesn’t even dance with anybody else.”

Draco scowls and steps up to Disapparate to the club.

(*)

The moment he steps through the doors to Fierté, Draco feels himself relax. As it’s Friday night, the club is certainly more crowded than other nights, but Draco knows that compared to the other clubs out there, it’s not even half filled. Fierté is very selective with its members; given its proximity to the Ministry and Diagon Alley it’s meant solely for wizards and witches.

The music is loud, loud enough that conversation is almost impossible unless you’re sequestered in the VIP room. Draco takes a moment to let the environment seep in, lets the thumping beat of the club reverberate till his toes and push away the stress of work.

Blaise and Pansy have caught up with him by then; Draco shoots them a warning glance, he’s here to have fun.

Blaise raises his hand in surrender, “Not a word, I swear.” Pansy rolls her eyes at Draco and heads towards the bar, snagging a seat as soon as she gets there.

“Three shots of the best tequila you’ve got!” she shouts over the music.

Draco and Blaise take up spots next to her. Draco knows Blaise is already scoping out the crowd, looking for his target for the night. Pansy nudges them as the drinks arrive.

“To a night of mind blowing sex,” Pansy toasts before downing her shot. “All right, gents, I’m off.”

“But we just got here,” Draco whines.

“And I know you’ll still be here even after four hours. I have to be up early, the Minister leaves for Ukraine tomorrow and I need to brief him before he leaves.”

Pansy drapes her coat over her arm and accepts hugs from the two of them before she leaves, manoeuvring through the crowd.

Blaise waves to the barkeep. “Two more! And keep ‘em coming!”

By the time Draco’s on his fifth shot, he’s leaning against the counter, a glass of some cocktail in his hand. The music is hypnotic, he can feel his body swaying along to the beat and Draco lets go. He’s had a long, tiring week and he deserves to let loose now.

“Let’s go!” Draco shouts to Blaise over the music, he leans over the bar and grabs a bottle of vodka, making sure the bartender adds it to his tab before linking his arm with Blaise and dragging him to the dance floor.

It’s crowded and sweaty, bodies moving all around them, and it’s perfect; Draco feels himself get swept up in the tide, moving along the crowd till he’s right in the centre. Blaise has already thrown off his coat somewhere, his shirt tight enough to make men stare. Draco smirks and takes a look at the men around them before leaning towards Blaise and pointing him towards someone who’s been eyeing Blaise all night.

As Blaise dances against the tall, dark haired man Draco feels a pang in his chest; he wants his own man here, pressing up against him.

Draco shakes his head and takes a long swig from the vodka bottle, enjoying the burn of the alcohol down his throat. He licks his lip, catching a stray drop of vodka. He looks up to see at least three people staring at his lips. He smirks and bites his lips, relishing the undisguised looks of want aimed at him. He has no intention of pulling anyone tonight, contrary to what Blaise and Pansy think, Draco is an idiot but he knows when he’s being a fool and the only person he wants to spend the night with is the one he woke up with this morning.

But just because he can’t taste doesn’t mean he can’t tempt; at least till his man arrives. So Draco ups the ante, taking another deep swig, making sure to tilt his head back so that his neck is visible; his Adams apple bobbing as he swallows the drink. The music is picking up, the beat getting faster as the night wears on, couples getting more risqué as the level of inebriation in the club rises. Draco keeps dancing while avoiding lingering hands. It’s about an hour after Draco had arrived that he comes in.

They share a long heated look, forgoing the need for words and Draco feels light headed; he takes another long drink, without breaking eye contact. He’s breathing hard, the club feeling hot suddenly. As green eyes stay trained on him, Draco reaches up to undo his tie, his long fingers tugging at the material till the tie hangs loose around his neck. Across the room he starts walking towards Draco, already pulling off his coat and revealing that slim waist and broad shoulders that Draco knows he’s left marks on.

The song changes, making the crowd roar; there are people jumping around them, the lights flashing brighter and faster and yet Draco Malfoy has eyes only for Harry Potter. He wants to find Blaise and tell him that he’s right, there’s no way Draco could even think about going home with anyone else tonight when he has the option of getting fucked so hard by Harry Potter that he forgets his name. But it’s not only about that, it’s also about the warm body that holds him tight at night, the lazy morning kisses that make him wonder how he ever woke up before and the breakfast in bed.

Harry’s coat is off now, his shoulders lined with confetti that casts bright shadows on his face when the light hits just right. Draco takes another drink and manoeuvres the bottle so that he can tug off his coat. Throwing his tie off at the same time, Draco stops where he is. Harry’s got his tie off as well, making Draco lick his lips as the flashing lights highlight his collarbones, making Draco want to bite and leave his mark.

He throws his head back and moves to the music, waiting for Harry to get to him. The beat is louder and faster now; sweeping him away as he lets his body move to it. It’s hot, hot enough that Draco’s gasping for breath within minutes and without thinking he raises the vodka bottle and overturns it on his head. The chilled alcohol slides down his neck, making him shiver in relief. He knows the people around him are probably getting a good show, with his shirt now soaked and sticking to his chest.

Draco vanishes the bottle with a wave of his hand and throws his arms up, arching his back and jumping with the music. He shakes his head to get his wet hair off his face, spraying the people around him with drops of vodka. He hasn’t felt this reckless in a while, so uninhibited and relaxed, like it’s okay to let go, and he suspects it’s only because of Harry that he’s feeling this way. Aware that Harry will still be watching him, Draco puts on a show; arching his back and unbuttoning the top two buttons on his shirt. The crowd is pressing in closer now, he can feel the push and pull from the other bodies around him but it’s like their energies are feeding him, making him pull his carefully tucked in shirt free from his trousers.

He feels someone brush against his front, but without opening his eyes Draco knows it isn’t Harry. The touch is too hesitant, too shy. Harry doesn’t ask, he takes and that’s what makes Draco want to give in to him. Draco steps back, right into the arms of the man he’s been waiting for. Harry wastes no time in pulling Draco close, his hold on Draco’s waist almost bruising in just the right way. They stay like that for a moment, still in the centre of the moving crowd. Draco sighs and rests his head on Harry’s shoulder. Harry starts moving them to the music, his hips lined with Draco’s; there’s no mistaking how turned on Harry is as they sway to the music.

Draco breathes out a sigh against Harry’s neck, unable to resist giving the smooth skin a bite before soothing it with his tongue. Harry curls his fingers in Draco’s shirt and pulls on it, moving it out the way so that he can slide his other hand up Draco’s stomach. Draco shudders and grinds back against him, fisting one hand in Harry’s hair to ground himself. Harry bends down till he can lick a long stripe up Draco’s neck, chasing the taste of the vodka.

Draco opens his eyes, blinking against the flashing lights. It takes him but a moment to realise that they have an audience and it leaves him feeling smug. He knows they’re a striking sight, and perhaps had he been more sober Draco would have been scandalised with the fact that he was practically humping, whilst almost half naked, against his boyfriend in the middle of a club.

With a laugh, Draco spins around in Harry’s hold and hooks his arms around Harry’s neck. Even with the confetti in his dishevelled hair and flushed cheeks Harry looks breath-taking and Draco wants to climb into the DJ box and shout out to the world that Harry is his.

Instead he tightens his hold on Harry’s hair and tilts his head, moving forward till their lips brush. Harry still has one hand on Draco’s waist, his fingers digging in just enough to tease. Draco wants more; he’s tired of these games. He feels like he’s been waiting since the morning, since he rolled out of Harry’s bed.

He closes the remaining distance and presses his lips to Harry’s, he knows he’s rougher than usual, biting and sucking with more fervour than ever before, but he hasn’t felt this wound up in a long time and he knows that only Harry can bring him down. Harry places his other hand on Draco’s lower back, uses it to bring Draco forward till they are moving against each other, creating a delicious friction that makes Draco ache for more. As if hearing his unspoken plea, Harry slides his hand under Draco’s trousers, curving it around Draco arse. Draco whimpers, making Harry tighten his hold and Draco can’t help it anymore. He breaks away, taking in the sight of Harry’s flushed cheeks and red, slick lips.

“Take me home, Harry.”

The words have barely left his mouth before Harry’s turning them on the spot.

(*)

As they Disapparate out of the club, leaving a crowd of turned on people behind them, Blaise smirks.

Looks like Pansy owes him ten galleons.

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